My overall impression of this film: holy cow, there’s so
much packed into one story! It feels like each scene could be it’s own movie. How
to dive into this film?
First, a quick synopsis. For those of you who don’t know,
Stephan Hawking is a famous cosmologist who has done some groundbreaking work
on black holes and theories of time. The Theory of Everything ostensibly
follows his quest find a formula that would be the succinct explanation for the
existence of everything in the universe. What we really get is the story of a
passionate, complicated relationship between two incredible people: Stephen
Hawking and his first wife Jane Hawking. They meet at a New Years party in 1963
shortly before Hawking’s diagnosis with ALS. Jane refuses to leave him, and
they marry in 1965. Jane supports him through twenty years of marriage,
groundbreaking research, and two children. Stephen supports Jane through twenty
years of caretaking, two children, and a pseudo affair. I won’t say more
because I don’t want to totally spoil the movie (if you’re like me and aren’t
current on Hawking history, there are some twists here).
The Theory of Everything is very moving in all the
predictable ways. Still, this inspiration story is well told, and manages to
pack some surprises into the details. For instance, the treatment of the
relationship between Stephen, Jane and Jonathan (Stephen and Jane’s aid, and
object of Jane’s affection) is amazingly tender, careful and
full-hearted--totally unexpected in this traditional drama, and completely
welcome. By the same token, the film was very even-handed with Stephen’s
relationship with his nurse. No one is written off here, or painted as a
villain. Everyone is human and developed, even if the central inspiration plot
is something like a Hollywood fable.
The acting is superb, and Eddie Redmayne is fantastic as
Stephen. But I kept thinking, who really deserves the Oscar here? Felicity
Jones’ portrayal of Jane is so complicated, deep and studied, I was
consistently fascinated by her. In many ways, Jane’s journey is darker and more
surprising than her husband’s. It’s easy to identify with Stephen and empathize
with him, and that is what the movie and the audience expect and count on. Put
in his place you’d almost definitely follow the same path, if you could find
his strength. Whereas step into Jane’s shoes and there are no easy answers or
obvious choices. No two people, in Jane’s place, would make the same decisions
or have the same reactions. The film doesn’t just gloss over her journey, but
spends a surprising and welcome amount of time ruminating on her dilemma. Jones
had a much less straightforward job to do, and knocked it out of the park. I
hope she isn’t overlooked next to Redmayne.
Despite my (maybe admittedly feminist-y biased) greater
interest in Jane, the truth is Jane and Stephen are curled around each other
like night and day, and this is a truth the film fundamentally understands. You
need one to understand the other. They are each of them superior and
handicapped individuals. The thread that runs through their relationship is
Hawking’s search for a unified theory of the universe, and we watch as they dance
around this life goal, pushing and pulling, supporting and tearing each other
down.
There is an interesting intersection between Jane and
Stephen, and why I think they are so attracted to each other. Jane believes in
God, while Stephen is a committed atheist. They both understand life as a
mystery, but they cope with unknowing in opposite ways. Stephen is analytical,
scientific, a cosmic sleuth. He deals with the uncertainty of the world by writing
rules for it, and occasionally mocking it. Jane deals by reacting,
accommodating, worshipping. Stephen orders his world around himself. Jane
orders herself around her world.
These opposite personalities drive every point of the film. The
first third of the movie, the true love story, seems cold and a bit off. As I
was watching, I was confused by how awkward their first kiss was. How wrong it
felt that Stephen basically ordered Jane around and decided when they would
talk and how fast their relationship progressed, etc. And she just let him. But
now I think this slightly wonky origin story of their relationship is a careful
addition to the film. This old fashioned cliché of a romance is there to
establish Stephen’s character—which is not nice. Brilliant, but not
particularly compassionate. The audience must view Stephen as a developed
individual, so later when he is trapped behind an almost frozen face, we can
see him for the thinking, feeling, agent of his own will that he is. We must
know his personality so we see him as a person, not an object, which he so very
much resembles after his disease renders him immobile.
Jane’s trajectory, on the other hand, is opposite. Light and
dark, as Stephen’s father quotes in the film, yin and yang, they are constantly
at odds. Jane begins as an object, as a pretty thing that Stephen seems to look
at as a new toy to be acquired. She happily sustains this impression, allowing
Stephen to advance their relationship (or not, as he sees fit). That is, until
his illness. This is the first time Jane objects to anything Stephen decrees.
The first time she breaks any of his rules. He tells her to go, and she
refuses. He tells her to go again, and she tells him that if she does, she’ll
never come back again. She is no longer at his beck and call, there for him to
summon or banish. She is no longer an object to be owned or controlled. And
from there, as Stephen descends further and further into dependency, becoming
more and more object-like, less and less animate; Jane becomes powerful,
emotionally and physically strong, his and her own advocate. Where once he
dominated, she grows to carry them both.
Beneath the traditional inspiration fable, The Theory of
Everything is a commentary on the illusion of objectification. As women, as
disabled people (and as people of color, which are admittedly sorely lacking
here), we often feel acutely disenfranchised by our own community. But our
differences and our trials don’t have to silence us. Our fates are not bound by
stereotypes, prejudice, or pity. You don’t have to be controlled by the story
people tell about you. You can tell your own. Stephen Hawking was given two
years to live in 1963. He is still alive.
What truly elevates The Theory of Everything above standard
Hollywood inspiration fare is it’s careful depiction of the plodding monotony
of resistance. This is also what makes it truly inspirational. It shows us the
grim work of surviving adversity, joys and tragedies and dead ends all
included. After the wild idealism of their courtship and marriage, Stephen and
Jane coped with his illness every single day. The fight was not over with one
bloody, fantastic, super human battle. The problem wasn’t solved with one difficult
and brave decision. Resistance is a series of tiny choices, small losses and
victories, a daily battle called living that wears you down like water dripping
onto a stone for a hundred years. And yet Stephen Hawking is still alive and pursuing
his life’s work. Here is a lesson for us, we who fight small battles a hundred
times a day: You don’t have to push boundaries so much as sustain the will to
keep your hand outstretched against them. Stereotypes, predictions, even
scientific theories are weak. They control us by convincing us that they are sacred.
Have the courage to reach out and just touch your walls. This is easier and
also harder than making one giant decision. Keep touching your boundaries, no
matter what happens. Eventually they will crumble like stone before water. 